


The Sky Is My Witness

by endgirl



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Anal, F/F, Femslash, First Time, People's Palace, Porn, Pre-show, balconies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:25:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endgirl/pseuds/endgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-show porn on the balcony of the People's Palace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sky Is My Witness

**Author's Note:**

> For the [lots_pornbattle](http://lots-pornbattle.livejournal.com/). Prompts were Cara/Denna, balcony of the People's Palace, control, rough, first time.

Cara stares out at the flickering lights of the city far below. The candles in the distant windows stretch into many-pointed stars each time she blinks, creating a sea of twinkling bursts in the darkness. She was trained not to respond to beauty -- to react only to the will of her master, and the pain of the Agiel -- but she admires the city nonetheless.

That part of her breaking never quite stuck, she muses, with a twitch of her lips -- not if Dahlia was any indication. But she has been separated from Dahlia for several months now, and Cara has found other diversions. The view from the wide balcony of the Palace, for one, on nights like this when she is assigned to guard it. It’s a solitary post, more ornamental than strategic, a place of honor for the Mord-Sith who holds the Lord Rahl’s favor. She desires her master’s approval as much as the next of her Sisters, but she finds this particular job tedious, apart from the spectacular view. She would much prefer to be in the dungeons below, sparring with her Sisters or pressing one against a stone wall.

With a sigh, she shifts her weight from one foot to the other in a display of frustration she would never have allowed in the presence of others. But here all alone, what’s the harm?

“Tired already, Sister Cara?” A voice like black velvet comes from the balcony behind her, and Cara has to force her head from turning back in surprise.

It’s Denna. She knows that without looking. The only Mord-Sith who yet outranks her, and her other distraction here at the People’s Palace. “Of course not, Mistress Denna,” she says, her tongue twisting on the title she must still use. “I’m just not used to such simple assignments. I find your Palace life boring, at times.” She can almost feel Denna behind her, bristling at the jibe, and she allows herself a small smirk.

“If you are bored, Cara, I’m sure I can come up with some additional tasks for you.”

“If you mean to intimidate me, you should know I never shy from my duties.” Still she does not turn around. When several minutes pass in silence, she is almost sure Denna has retreated back inside.

“Very well.” Denna’s voice hides the hint of a smile now, of a devilish amusement that makes Cara shiver. “Undress.”

Cara cannot help a small clench of her hands, clasped at her back, and it matches the way her body clenches on the inside. She has been waiting for this, for the moment when the poised and pompous blonde would admit what Cara has always suspected -- that Denna desires her. Whether Denna wants her for _her_ or purely because she poses a challenge in comparison to their other eager-to-please Sisters, Cara is not concerned.

She tired of the other Mord-Sith in her first few weeks at the People’s Palace. They displayed respectable skills on the battlefield and in the bedroom, but each was merely a pawn, just another well-trained and obedient weapon. They were all the same. In Denna, though, Cara saw a woman with as much ambition as herself, with an aptitude for cruelty that spun legends throughout D’Hara. Here, finally, was a worthy adversary. As the weeks turned into months, Cara found herself watching Mistress Denna more closely. And the longer she watched, the harder it was to ignore the powerful curves of Denna’s body or the way her hips swayed as she wielded her weapon.

Even so, despite her physical needs, Cara cannot simply fall at Denna’s feet. The balance of power is precarious here, and Cara plans to tip the scales one day very soon. It would not do to submit to a woman she will soon command, no matter how her years of training make her want to instinctively bend to the superior officer who stands behind her. Instead she turns slowly, lazily, like she is considering Denna’s words like an offer instead of a command.

“Are you suggesting I abandon a post assigned to me by Lord Rahl, so I may serve you instead?” Cara cocks her head to the side in mock confusion. She already knows that is exactly what Denna is suggesting, and both of them are aware that such disobedience to their master could end in bloodshed if they are discovered. The possibility only makes Cara’s heart beat more quickly.

Denna sniffs as she rests her gloved hands on her hips. “Of course not, Sister Cara. You will not abandon your post.” Her gaze rakes up and down Cara’s body. “I will not repeat myself again. Undress.”

Cara’s eyes widen slightly as she realizes that Denna means now, _here_. Outside on the Palace balcony, where anyone could stumble upon them. But Cara knows a challenge when she sees one. Already her hands are moving to the laces at her side. Denna does not step forward to help, merely watches with smoldering eyes as Cara bares one shoulder to the night, then the other. Her skin pricks as the cold air finds her flesh, but she is more focused on the heat she can feel blooming inside her body. When she is naked, she stands defiantly before Denna, her chin held high.

“Fold your leathers,” Denna snaps, her attention on the pile of red left haphazardly by Cara’s feet.

Cara grits her teeth and glares, but she slowly retrieves the uniform and arranges the pieces into a neat stack.

“No pet of mine will behave like a savage.”

At this Cara balks. “I’m not your pet.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Denna moves forward, trailing one finger along her cheek, down her neck, between her bare breasts. Her voice is smooth, almost light, but Cara knows better. “You forget your place, Sister Cara. You will be my pet. You’ll be my pet, my plaything, my whipping girl... you will be whatever I say.” Denna takes one of Cara’s nipples between her fingers and twists hard, leaning in close to whisper. “Won’t you?”

Cara breathes raggedly as Denna pinches harder, but she can’t stop the fire that burns through her at the pain and at Denna’s words. She may have risen through the ranks of the Mord-Sith, but her body still responds to authority the way it was trained to. And Denna’s authority, Cara suspects, is a particularly wicked brand. “Yes,” she says, even as she files the woman’s words in her memory. One day, she will turn them against her.

“Mistress Denna,” Denna prompts sweetly. She pulls at Cara’s other nipple.

“Yes, Mistress Denna.”

Denna lets go, and the blood returns to Cara’s breasts in a painful, delicious rush. “What a good pet you are. You learn so quickly.” Her tone is mocking, but she can’t hide the genuine pleasure in it any more than Cara can hide her physical responses.

Cara grits her teeth to keep herself from talking back. Denna is treating her like a common woman, like a whore she bought in a tavern instead of a fellow Mord-Sith. It’s patronizing and insulting, but she knows that arguing will only reveal the way Denna has unsettled her.

“You aren’t guarding the Palace very effectively, Sister Cara. Did you think my attentions would exempt you from your duties?” She presses her lips together the way Cara has seen her do dozens of times before, as she stepped into a training room with her Agiel drawn. “Turn around and do as the Lord Rahl has commanded.”

Cara obeys. She resumes the stance she held before Denna emerged from the shadows, standing at the balcony’s edge with her legs at shoulder width and her hands clasped in the small of her back. Several minutes crawl by, and the cold air twists around her, biting at her hardened nipples and drawing her focus to the dampness between her legs. She can no longer hear the other woman moving behind her. She begins to wonder, with no small measure of anger, if this was Denna’s plan all along: to force her to undress, disappear, and then report her for disobedience -- what would her master do, after all, if he found her standing here naked?

She is about to turn around to assess her options when strong fingers dig into her hips. “Did you think I had gone?” Denna says, whispering at the back of Cara’s ear. “Did you think you wouldn’t have to serve me?”

“No, Mistress.” Cara grinds out the required words. “I look forward to serving you.” And though she is loathe to admit it, there is some measure of truth in what she says. She wants this, wants Denna’s body. And maybe, a little bit, she wants Denna.

Denna chuckles, a dark sound that would make a lesser mortal shiver. “Good girl,” she says condescendingly. “Now bend over and let me see how much.”

Cara wants to hesitate, wants to make Denna wait and wonder if she plans to play her role in this game. But she knows that would only goad Denna into dragging out whatever torments she has in store. After only half a breath, Cara bends over and rests her chest on the waist-high stone wall that rings the balcony. Denna’s hands leave her hips as she steps back. Cara can sense the older woman’s gaze on her, can almost feel the way Denna stares at the quickly swelling flesh between her legs. Being exposed like this, spread open to Denna’s view, only makes her blood rush faster.

“Lovely,” Denna says. Her tone is as mocking as always, but Cara hears the nugget of truth beneath it. She spreads her legs a little bit more -- just to taunt, she tells herself, but her ass rises invitingly into the air all the same.

Denna’s fingers enter her without warning. There is no preparation, no warm up, but Cara doesn’t need it. She is slick and grasping as the other Mord-Sith slams into her. She takes Denna’s hand -- is it three fingers, she wonders, or four? -- and presses back on her heels to meet the thrusts.

She just manages to swallow the moan that bubbles up in her throat when Denna curls her fingers down. Her body must betray her weakness in some other way, though, because Denna continues to press roughly at that certain spot deep inside, the one that makes Cara’s hands curl into desperate fists. Denna moves faster and faster, leather-clad thighs slamming into her bare ones, until Cara is arching off the balcony wall, panting, needing, almost there, _there_ , when all of a sudden -- nothing.

Denna’s fingers are gone from her cunt, leaving her muscles grasping at nothing. She turns her head to spit venom at the woman behind her, but she doesn’t get a chance. Denna presses a finger into her ass in a single smooth stroke. Her mouth, poised to spew curses, curves into an _O_ instead.

Denna must see her shock, must sense the way Cara’s body is working in overdrive to process this new sensation, for she lets out a low, sinful laugh. “Oh, Cara. Don’t tell me you’ve never done this.”

Cara hasn’t. She used to fuck Dahlia this way, used to tie her up and tease her until she begged Cara to use one of the cocks that hung from the temple walls. But she never allowed Dahlia to turn the tables. And she certainly never permitted any of the inferior Sisters here in the Palace to do it. She wouldn’t have allowed Denna, either, and she might still not allow it now, except that the finger stretching her open feels so _good_...

“The Lord Rahl has been neglecting you.” Despite the taunt, Cara can sense a touch of jealousy in the older woman’s voice.

Cara _has_ been invited to their master’s bedchamber often in the past weeks, but by chance or by Rahl’s design she has not experienced this. Something about Denna’s jealous tone and the way her thrusts slow to an almost careful rhythm make Cara think that perhaps she should be grateful -- both for Rahl’s neglect and Denna’s attention.

Denna’s free hand digs into the flesh of Cara’s ass. “I’ll be the first to tear you apart, then.”

But to Cara’s confusion, the growl is all bravado. Denna adds a second finger slowly, then a third, stretching her body to a new limit but not beyond. Only when Cara eventually pushes back, sheathing herself on Denna’s hand with a groan, does the other Mord-Sith finally set a pace that’s familiar. Cara gasps into the night air with each thrust, pushing Denna’s disconcerting kindness to the back of her mind.

Just as she begins to adjust to this new sensation, Denna slides into her cunt with her other hand. Cara bites her lip to stop the cry that tries to escape, but staying quiet soon becomes impossible. Denna works her in both holes, in and out, filling her to the brim and then some. It’s like nothing she has felt before. Denna’s thumb slides over her clit, and suddenly Cara is grateful for the stone wall beneath her chest. Her thighs shake like they haven’t in months, her ass and her cunt clench they haven’t _ever_ , and then it’s all too much and she’s crying out, bucking into Denna, coming long and hard and desperate.

The hands inside her slow but don’t still as she fights to catch her breath. They milk another shuddering orgasm from her body as stars prickle behind her eyes. And then, all too soon, they slip free.

Long minutes pass as the Mord-Sith breathe heavy puffs of steam into the air. Neither woman speaks. Cara could see Denna from where her head rests on the stone, but she doesn’t open her eyes. This isn’t what she’d imagined when she wondered when Denna would finally approach her. She had expected a cold and calculated game, a power struggle, a dizzying series of impossible demands and pointless punishments, she’d expected manipulation, begging, pain -- so much pain. Whose pain, exactly, she wasn’t sure, but she’d been looking forward to it all the same. Tonight, though, was something else entirely.

It is possible, Cara muses, that all this is a manipulation after all. That tonight is simply part of a game so vast that only Denna can see the playboard. But she knows, somehow, it is not. Tonight she has glimpsed, if only for a moment, _Denna_. Not Mistress Denna, First Mord-Sith. Just Denna.

Such a thought is absurd, and yet she has no other explanation for the way Denna behaved. Or, worse, for the bewildering urge she has to _smile_ , of all ridiculous things to do after fucking. She suspects that whatever forces have converged here tonight will flee once she opens her eyes, once she and Denna face each other again as who they really are: Mord-Sith, rivals, enemies. She knows one day she will dissect this night, will examine it from every possible angle to gain advantages over her adversary. But for now, with the night breeze on her skin and Denna’s hand on her back, she keeps her eyes closed a little bit longer. The rest can wait.


End file.
